At the bar

The Orchid Room is a collaborative writing project. Anyone can participate. Just a leave a comment like talking to the bartender or one of the performers. If you would like a night on stage you can audition anywhere.
This week the Orchid Room is proud to announce all new management.
And we are serving food prepared by
Wilbur Cox Jn. (Wil, to his mates.)
The wine is supplied by the wonderful folk at
The Grateful Palate.

Who

Colons are about as useful as stuffed olives on a drinking binge: anchovy and garlic.

The path of The Sun through space is like that of a bath salt ball in a snack vending machine: a helical coil fixed to a one way motor doesn’t auger well for anyone trying to picture a planet to orbit around your selection before it drops out.

When you’re dealing with a machine, it’s not enough to get the bath salt ball you paid for: Edit Message >>> MessageX >>> Custom Text

“The primary characteristic of machine-readability is extension;
without which the information contained within a file is impenetrable,
or incapable of occupying places extrinsic to the given storage space
at any given time,” pushing a foot through the backdoor.
“That the impenetrability of information is an intrinsic characterisitic
of an extensionless file is clearly implied, although we mustn’t necessarily
assume that the intrinsic characteristic of impenetribility is a primary one.mp3.”
“Yeah. Ok. That’s great mate, but if you’re looking for an audition use the front door.”
“Will do. You got a business card or something I can use? haha!”
“Oh! haha squared. I thought you looked familiar. Come in! Come in!”
“Oh nohs! I just wanted to extend this to you. Don’t let it out of your sight.
It’s due to go live any day now.mp3”
“What should I do with it when it does?”
“Just make sure it segues back out from the last one.”

She pinches the hem,
crushed satin tacked
secured with a single
Gordian knot,
a safeguard that fumbled
stitches won’t unravel
and reveal
that black line drawn
with kohl;
some vain attempt
to sexualise this naïve form,
this pretence that reluctantly
demands attention.
She pulls it, pinches,
drags it up revealing
porcelain skin and
catholic guilts
as the drummer
teases and rolls
her slight dip,
head bowed with her
curtsey in servitude.

Some fluid jazz drifts out to the balcony
where he puts his arm around me
these is uncertain times, boy,
so we’ll revert to fundamental principles
and trust our instincts and he squeezes me
and breathes
you just sit there and play
as though in some performance of art
tatum if you can haha
I’ll go find a drummer she laughs
F., leave the pianoplayer alone
there are some gentlemen to see you,

in speaking into silence
when they see you there standing at the microphone
there is no equivalance when one is amplified
and the rest are in a crowd
you have a responsibility
that can only be fulfilled
if you exercise your power over them
otherwise they go home disappointed.
why do you think rockstars go insane so often?
syd barrett could not make the distinction between
the performance and the man
he chose not to
how does Tom Jones wife trust him?
do we forgive Jerry Lee Lewis his crimes?
it’s quiet in here he said tap tap is this thing on?